


i'll blend up that rainbow above you

by HSaijou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Parents, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Eventual Relationships, Fluff and Humor, Fondling, Kid Fic, M/M, Nick is not a dick, Single Parent Louis, Teacher Louis, University Student Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 04:52:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8432539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HSaijou/pseuds/HSaijou
Summary: From the duration of his trip until the moment he arrived home, the thought of Tommy’s innocent smile has been stuck at the back of Harry’s head. Strangely for him, he wasn’t able to get rid of that particular thought because it was too precious and worth-remembering. However, it was distracting enough to make Harry stop doing what he was supposed to do, like he ended up daydreaming about it. His Mum and Gemma even noticed this, that they both asked him to do something about it.
   And that was when Harry came up with the best idea ever. ---(or The one where Harry finds his home with the help of a little boy and an art project.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [papermemories](https://archiveofourown.org/users/papermemories/gifts).



> In celebration of the most iconic moment on Halloween last year (a.k.a. the Larry hug from OTRA Sheffield 3), I finally decided to post this second fanfic of mine and I've been proud of it since I finished this for about months ago. I actually started this last July and finalized it last September.
> 
> Of course, I wouldn't have done this without the help of [Miss Lee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/papermemories) who volunteered herself to be my beta for this fanfic of mine.
> 
> A mini shout-out to [Miss Adithi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tattsandfond/pseuds/tattsandfond) who I have told about this fanfic.
> 
> Enjoy reading!
> 
> (Title is a lyric from "Rainbow Veins" by Owl City.)

Harry rushes hurriedly along the pavement while carrying his briefcase and shoulder bag. He almost trips but thankfully, he is able to balance himself with the help of a brick wall right beside him. He sometimes hits random people accidentally with his case but at least, he never fails to mutter a _“Sorry”_ to them. He is already a clumsy person, but when he is in a hurry, he becomes ten times clumsier than he naturally is.

As soon as he reaches the bus stop, he immediately sits down on the bench and lets out small frantic puffs of air. He looks at his watch and reads the time.

5:00 PM, it reads.

Harry sighs in relief as he relaxes himself against the backrest. He is thankful that he doesn’t have to wait until six in the evening for the next bus to come. He is also thankful that his mother is a very understanding person, and he hopes he doesn’t see her sitting on the couch in their living room while waiting for her son to return with a worried face. As much as possible, Harry tries not to make his Mum worried.

It was a last minute announcement that the school band would have practice after class dismissal. Since Harry is part of the band, he needed to attend regardless of whatever reason except if it was a very reasonable one. Apparently, Harry had no such reason that could be defined as "reasonable", so obviously he decided to join the practice, even though his project in Arts needs to be submitted the next day. He isn’t even finished yet.

Since the next bus arrives by around half an hour or so, Harry decides to keep himself busy while waiting. He opens his briefcase and takes out his unfinished project. It is a sketch of the interior of his house with his mother by the kitchen and her sister by the living room. They were told to paint something that they find “peaceful” and “warm”. The first thing that came into Harry’s mind was his home and family, so he went with it. All he needs to do now is to directly paint the whole thing with watercolor.

Harry places the canvas paper down before he takes out his brushes, his watercolor set, and a bottle of water. After he puts them on his side, he lifts the paper from his lap and stares at it for a few moments. He knows that once he makes a mistake in coloring, he would either have to find a way to cover that mistake or to start everything all over again. Fortunately, he has some extra canvas paper in his case and back at home, but he at least tries to save as much for future activities and projects. Canvas papers are annoyingly expensive nowadays.

He lets out a deep breath, finally ready and determined to start coloring. After pouring some water on the plastic cover of his watercolor set, he grabs his brush and lightly dabs on the water, and then on the peach paint. He slowly starts stroking the brush on the canvas paper that is settled on his knees. The moment the paint-covered tip of the brush touches the canvas, the paint spreads quickly on the paper, and Harry really loves it when that happens. It looks aesthetically pleasing for him.

Minutes have passed, and Harry is doing pretty well in his painting. He hasn’t made any mistakes, and his hand which is holding the brush is a bit shaky, but thankfully, none of the paint got smeared on the canvas. The colors blend pretty well, creating beautiful different shades and hues.

 _So far, so good,_ Harry thinks to himself.

That is, until he hears something clattering beside him.

Like his watercolor set moved by itself.

_Shit._

Harry flicks his head to his side too fast that his neck might actually snap. Then, he sees a young child holding his precious watercolor set. His blue innocent eyes glimmered as the rays of the late afternoon sun shine on them. He has slightly dark brown hair with a bowl haircut, and his cheeks are chubby enough to seem worth-pinching. He is wearing a simple blue-and-white striped shirt, a pair of denim shorts, and red rubber shoes with white socks.

However, the boy’s expression clearly shows that he is afraid and nervous, like he had done something bad. Touching Harry’s watercolor set is counted as something bad.

Before Harry can tell the boy off, a tiny slightly high-pitched voice rang out, “I’m so sorry, Mister.”

It takes a few seconds for Harry to realize that the voice belongs to the little one standing beside him. His eyes look like they are about to be filled with tears any time soon, and Harry’s heart is slowly breaking just from seeing the boy’s face.

Harry smiles softly as he pats the boy’s head. “It’s alright,” he says. “As long as you didn’t spill anything, did you?”

The child shakes his head furiously. He opens his mouth but closes it immediately, like he is hesitant to say something. He lowers his head and looks away, trying to avoid Harry’s gaze. Harry hums, as if he was asking, _Is there something wrong?_

“Just a wee bit,” the boy murmurs too quietly that Harry almost didn’t register his voice.

Harry stays still for a few moments before it finally hits him. He places his project down on his side before looking around for any signs of spilled water while remaining on his seat. He notices the small wet spot on the pavement, just a few millimeters away from where the boy is standing. He looks up at the child, who is still not facing him, and reaches to cup his chubby cheeks.

“Hey, listen,” Harry starts, angling his face so that he can meet the boy’s gaze. “Put my watercolor down first, and then look at me.”

The boy does what he was told, gently placing Harry’s watercolor set on the bench where it is supposed to be. He slowly raises his head, and Harry swears his heart is close to break into a million pieces when he sees the tears forming in the boy’s wide blue eyes.

“Shh, don’t cry,” Harry shushes him, wiping away the tears with his thumbs. “I am not mad at you or anything, OK?”

The little boy just sniffs and bites his bottom lip to stop himself from crying out loud. Meanwhile, Harry continues to wipe the tears away before they start rolling down to the boy’s cheeks. After what it feels like hours of shushing, the boy finally stops crying and Harry wipes away the last of the droplets from the boy’s sad red-rimmed eyes and chubby cheeks.

When he was done, he puts his watercolor set beside the canvas paper on his other side to give space for the boy to sit on. The boy seems to notice this, as he props himself up on the wooden bench and sits beside Harry.

Harry then, decides to get back to his work, getting the paper and brush again. He is almost done; he just needs to finish painting all the furniture, so that he can start painting his sister and his mother. He dabs his brush on the green paint before stroking his brush on the canvas, careful and slow. He unconsciously sticks his tongue out and furrows his eyebrows as he focuses on his work.

He gets startled when he hears a noise—the kind you make when you slap your hand on your skin. Harry turns around to the source of the noise and sees the boy covering his incredibly wide smile with his small hands. Harry can’t help but smile fondly, as he can clearly tell the boy is trying to stop himself from laughing.

“Something funny?” Harry asks, amused.

The boy shakes his head, hands still covering his mouth. Harry tries to reach for his hands, but the boy twists his body insistently as he starts to giggle louder. Harry smiles wider this time.

“Come on, tell me. What is it?” Harry pouts instead, popping out his bottom lip.

Somehow, it made the boy finally remove his small hands from his mouth, and then he finally starts giggling out loud. Harry couldn’t help but grin triumphantly to himself. This little wonder seems so vibrant. He is like a ball of sunshine radiating such contagious happy energy.

Moments later, a small finger is pointing at Harry. “Your face is so funny.”

Harry makes a pouty face again, raising his eyebrow exaggeratedly as he crosses his arms. He is pretending to try being serious, but he knows that it will only make the young boy laugh harder than before. And Harry will do anything just to hear that laugh over and over again. Fortunately for him, it worked.

“Which face are you talking about?”

“That one!” the boy manages to say between laughs, his hands now on his belly. “And—and the other one! When you were doing this.”

As the boy almost perfectly copies Harry’s serious yet scrunched up face with his tongue sticking out, it is Harry’s turn to laugh this time. When he lets out his weird laugh, the one that lets out a short yet obnoxiously loud noise, he immediately clasps his hand on his mouth. He knows he is blushing, and the boy in front of him is all giggles and laughs. Harry can’t help but smile under his hand.

“So, what’s your name, little man?” Harry finally asks after the laughter has subsided.

The boy frowns, but Harry finds it really cute. “Daddy said no strangers.”

Harry makes a small noise as he stops a laugh escaping from his mouth. “We have been literally talking to each other since, like, ten minutes ago.”

However, the frown—it looks more of a pout than an actual frown—doesn’t leave the boy’s face. He crosses his arms and shakes his head exaggeratedly.

“Fine,” the curly-haired lad sighs as he offers his hand to the boy. “I am Harry. Harry Styles.”

The boy looks at Harry’s hand suspiciously before he looks up at Harry. He grins as he happily takes Harry’s large hand with his two small ones. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Harry! My name is Tommy.”

Harry coos as they slowly let go of each other’s hands. He loves how the boy pronounced his name as, _“Ha-wee”_ instead. “Nice to meet you as well, Mr. Tommy. But please, you can just call me Harry.”

“Harry,” the boy tries saying for a few times before finally beaming a wide grin at Harry. “Alright then, Harry! You can also just call me Tommy, without ‘Mister’.” Upon seeing his wide grin, Harry can’t help himself but smile.

Soon, it becomes quiet between the two of them, but it isn’t anything awkward. It is calm and comforting, and Harry likes that kind of silence. He resumes coloring his project with the thought of Tommy watching him stuck at the back of his mind. He takes a quick glance at the boy sitting so close beside him, his wide blue eyes gleaming with admiration. And Harry feels very proud of himself somehow.

“Is that what your house looks like, Harry?” Tommy asks after a while, his voice sounds so innocent and curious. He raises his head a bit as he tries to take a peek of Harry’s artwork.

Harry hums approvingly as he nods.

“Who is that in the kitchen?” Tommy’s little finger comes into Harry’s view as he points at the figure.

“That’s my Mum,” Harry answers.

Tommy points at the other figure. “How about this one on the couch?”

“That’s my sister.”

Harry can hear a small gasp from his side. “You have a sister?”

“Yep,” Harry answers as he turns around to see Tommy’s mouth hanging wide open. He smiles—he is way too fond of this boy. “She’s my big sister, actually.”

“I wanna have a sister, too!” Tommy whines in his more high-pitched voice, and Harry finds it very endearing. The frown-that-is-actually-more-of-a-pout appears in Tommy’s face, but it looks genuinely sadder than the one from minutes ago. “But, Daddy said I can’t have one.”

“Does your Daddy not like having you a sister?” Harry asks curiously as he holds at the sides of his canvas paper to keep it in place on his lap.

“Daddy said he will be really happy if I have a sister.” Tommy lowers his head, and Harry can see his two small fists clenching. “But, he said he can’t get one for me.”

Harry knows that he will start crying anytime soon because of how miserable and sad Tommy looks. He can feel his heart aching badly in his chest as he observes the boy’s face. He knows that he is close to tears, but Tommy is doing his best not to cry in front of Harry again by biting his bottom lip. Seeing this only made Harry feel much sorry for the boy.

In the back of his head, he has at least an idea or two on why Tommy’s father couldn’t possibly give his son a sister. And maybe his father hasn’t told Tommy the reason, because the child is too young to understand anything related to adult stuff.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Harry says as he rubs Tommy’s back. “I think your Daddy has a good reason, but he can’t tell you yet.”

Tommy raises his head so suddenly, that Harry admittedly got startled for a bit. Bright hopeful but teary blue eyes look at him curiously. “When will Daddy tell me, then?”

Harry stares at the boy as he bites his bottom lip while thinking of a right answer. He answers carefully, “Soon, Tommy. Very soon.”

He expects his answer won’t be able to make Tommy’s frown fade away—in fact, it got much bigger. But at least, Harry gets a tight hug from the little one, and of course, he hugs back. Somehow, Harry can feel the warmth and comfort slowly flowing throughout his whole body as Tommy holds him tightly in his arms.

“Hey, you know,” Harry says when the child isn’t saying anything for a while. “I can be your sister, if you want to.”

He hears a loud muffled laugh from his stomach, and Harry pulls away just to see Tommy finally grinning so widely at him, the frown from his face completely gone within mere seconds.

“How is that even possible? You are a boy like me, Harry!”

Harry huffs good-naturedly and shakes his head. “Does it matter whether I’m a boy or a girl? All that matters is that I want to be your sibling—your big sister, if you want to.”

Tommy furrows his eyebrows, looking genuinely curious. “But, don’t you think that is weird?”

“Absolutely not,” Harry answers firmly but gently. “Just because I am a boy doesn’t mean I can’t be a big sister. To be honest, I sometimes act like one, but still.” He holds Tommy’s face and caresses his cheeks. “What’s important is that I want to be siblings with you, Tommy. And I hope you’re OK with that.”

They are staring at each other’s eyes until Tommy lowers his head. He hums to himself as he thinks about something—most likely Harry’s suggestion. Harry just stays there, observing Tommy with his hands still on the boy’s cheeks.

Moments later, Tommy perks up, looking really determined. He nods to himself, as if he finally made up his mind.

“Well?” Harry asks.

Small hands hold Harry’s huge ones tenderly, and Tommy beams a toothy grin at Harry. “I want to be your little brother, big sister!”

Harry smiles happily upon hearing this. He has never been called like that before, but somehow, it sounds quite natural and good to him. “And I am happy to be your big sister, little brother!”

Tommy bursts into a fit of laughter, and Harry joins him as well, their laughs echoing in unison for a while. Moments later, they hear the loud honk of a bus. Turning to their side, they see the bus parked right in front of them, and it seems that no one is coming out of it. Those who are sitting by windows are either awake or asleep. However, they don’t matter to Harry. What matters is that it is his time to leave.

After gathering all of his stuff and keeping them inside his briefcase, Harry stands up from the bench and walks towards the already open doors of the bus. Before he takes another step, he turns around and sees Tommy looking very disappointed. He offers the boy a small smile and waves lightly at him.

“Goodbye, little bro!” Harry says. “We’ll see each other soon, I promise!”

He didn’t fully enter the bus until he sees Tommy smile again. As he gets inside and sits next to the window, the vehicle starts moving and Tommy basically flails his little arms as he waves goodbye while frantically chasing the bus. Harry simply waves back until he can no longer see the boy.

From the duration of his trip until the moment he arrived home, the thought of Tommy’s innocent smile has been stuck at the back of Harry’s head. Strangely for him, he wasn’t able to get rid of that particular thought because it was too precious and worth-remembering. However, it was distracting enough to make Harry stop doing what he was supposed to do, like he ended up daydreaming about it. His Mum and Gemma even noticed this, that they both asked him to do something about it.

And that was when Harry came up with the best idea ever.

**-x-x-**

It has been a week since the class’ submission of their project in Arts. Coincidentally, today is the day their respective projects will be returned. And Harry has always been looking forward for this particular day.

He sits on his chair as he taps his fingers impatiently while he waits for his work to be returned. Like he did on the day of their project’s submission last week, Harry plans not to show his artwork to anybody (with the exception of his teacher, unfortunately), even from his best friend, and hide it from them as soon as it gets returned.

Their Arts teacher isn’t present at this hour, due to a teachers’ meeting that was announced just a few minutes ago during Math class. And Nick, being the responsible class president as he has been for at least two years, decides to get the artworks from their teacher’s table and return them himself. And Harry swears to himself that if Nick is stupid enough to show the artwork while calling out the owner, Harry is definitely going to kill him. Besides, the teacher even made a rule: keep the papers facing down while returning the artworks _“because high school students like you lot make shittier artworks than an elementary student, so you should be ashamed of yourselves.”_

Harry even remembers how Taylor (Crawford, not Swift. She wasn’t present that day, and Harry could care less about a witch like her) was unsurprisingly stupid enough to make a correction that they were, in fact, university students. To which their teacher bitterly and coldly replied, “Do you even consider yourselves as uni students when most of you—if not all—are just so bloody immature and childish?”

Meanwhile, Nick seems to be doing a pretty good job of keeping the artworks facing down while he calls the name of the owner written at the back of the paper. Harry lets out a sigh of relief as he not patiently waits for his name to be called, until he realizes that all the artworks have been returned. And Harry hasn’t received anything.

So, he stands up and gets Nick’s attention. “Uh, Nick, where’s mine?”

Nick raises an eyebrow before shrugging his shoulders. “No idea, to be honest.”

Harry’s heart starts beating faster as he asks nervously, “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope,” Nick shakes his head. “Those were all the papers that I found on the table. And by all, I mean exactly 27 papers.”

And that is when Harry’s heart drops on the floor. He stares at Nick with wide eyes and a wide open mouth. His words are stuck in his throat, so he fails to say anything. Harry slowly sits back on his seat again, his heart beating so loudly in his chest that he can literally hear it. This is what he fears the most: his project went missing.

He feels a comforting hand on his back, moving up and down. “Harry, calm down for a bit,” Zayn’s voice says. “I think your project must have been misplaced.”

“Or Nick must have seen it and he won’t return it to me,” Harry snaps back angrily. He turns around to face his friend. “It’s impossible for it to go missing, right?”

“First off, Nick looked too serious to pull a joke on you. Besides, you know him,” Zayn says before he nods. “And yeah, it’s impossible for your artwork to disappear like that and all. I mean, it has been with the other papers last week. Besides, you submitted yours, yeah?”

Harry nods firmly.

“So, I think our teacher thought all the artworks were on the desk when yours might have actually been misplaced somewhere,” Zayn explains. “I suggest you two should talk later after dismissal, don’t you think?”

Zayn totally deserves an award for being the best mate ever, Harry thinks. He smiles at his friend as he mentally notes about taking him to the movies and watch Suicide Squad once it’s out. “Thanks, Z.”

“I’m your best friend, after all,” Zayn says with a wink.

“No,” Harry shakes his head, earning a disappointed look from Zayn. “You’re my bestest friend.”

And the disappointment in Zayn’s face is replaced with a genuine smile.

**-x-x-**

Now is the moment of truth. Or so, Harry thinks.

Right behind the door he is standing right in front of is most likely their Arts teacher who is probably busy doing some paperwork or maybe nothing at all. Nobody knows why one of the oldest members of the university’s staff stays the latest in the building, but what matters is that Harry feels highly unprepared for this.

After taking a long deep breath, Harry takes all of his courage and knocks the door three times.

There is a long pause until a voice says, “Come in!”

Harry almost jumps in surprise for he didn’t expect an answer so soon. He gently opens the door and walks slowly inside the staff room.

It is empty—well, almost empty, because he is there, and his Arts teacher is there. The orange rays of the sunset give a red orange shade in the room. Most of the desks are neat and unoccupied, but the center of attraction is the man who is occupying the only one desk. And Harry can already tell from afar that he is their class’ Arts teacher.

He is sitting with his feet on the desk while reading a book of what Harry can see is about Van Gogh. His outstretched arms emphasize how fit he is. The sleeves of his light turquoise shirt are rolled-up, revealing some tattoos Harry has never seen before. His messy side fringe is always distinguishable, and a pair of reading glasses shields his pale blue eyes. His jawline is a bit more obvious and sharper from the way he tilts his head up to read. The sunlight seems to serve as a highlighter to display his sharp cheekbones.

This is the first time Harry has gotten this close to his Arts teacher. And never in his life has he marveled such beauty until now. Strangely, Harry started to feel much more intimidated. No, it is not just because of how good-looking his teacher is, but also because the serious expression in his face only makes him look more intimidating and admittedly, _sexier._

Harry feels a blush slowly creeping in his face as he attempts to get his teacher’s attention by coughing.  He slowly murmurs, “Um…Mr. Tomlinson?”

The teacher turns around to face Harry, with a raised eyebrow and wide eyes. He speaks up with the same raspy voice he uses in his class, but deeper, “Something the matter, Styles?”

And it’s official: Harry is totally gay for his Arts teacher.

“You alright there?” Mr. Tomlinson asks again when Harry fails to form words after at least a minute or so.

Now that his brain is functioning well and he can properly speak out words, Harry immediately nods and answers, “Y-Yes, Sir! I’m alright.”

The smile that slowly forms in the man’s face only makes Harry’s heart melt. “That’s good,” he says before closing his book and placing it down on his desk. He slowly puts his feet down on the floor and crosses his legs. “And we already talked about this on the first day. Forget the formalities. Just call me, ‘Sir L’, yeah?”

“Right, um, yes, I’m sorry,” Harry continues to murmur little apologies before Mr. Tomlinson finally clears his throat to stop him.

“It’s a lot easier than calling me with a long-arse name like, ‘Mr. Tomlinson’,” the teacher scoffs. “I mean, what the hell is that? _Fifty Shades of Grey?_ That’s like that one scene, although it’ll be more like—” His voice shifts into a more high-pitched tone that is similar to a lady’s. _“—‘Mr. Tomlinson is ready to see you.’”_

And that is when Harry’s mind short-circuits and goes blank. He swears to himself he is really going to lose it right now because his Arts teacher _really_ had to make a reference of a rather sexual (and kinky, Harry must add and highly stress) novel slash movie. Harry is left completely speechless, his brain unable to function properly.

When Harry unsuccessfully forms any words with his mouth after a while, Mr. Tomlinson clears his throat.

“Again, let me ask you,” he says, looking up at his student through his reading glasses. “Something the matter?”

This is the conversation Harry has been thinking of since this morning. This is the conversation he has been rehearsing in his head since then. This is the conversation he is already having right now. And he feels more unprepared than before. It sucks having not to realize how _fucking_ hot your Arts teacher really is until now and how such hotness can catch you off-guard easily.

(And of course, the Fifty Shades reference, as well. Fuck Christian Grey and bondage.)

After a while, Harry finally speaks up, “My project, Sir. It hasn’t been returned.”

Now, Harry is expecting two reactions: an _“I’m sorry, I don’t have it”_ with a frown, and a _“Don’t worry, I have it”_ with a smile. He is hoping to get the latter reaction, because he will be forever doomed if his own teacher literally lost it. Not only will his grade be wasted, but also his hard work and effort. In addition, he wouldn’t be able to fulfill his promise from last week.

So when Mr. Tomlinson slowly smiles at him, Harry can’t help but let out a little gasp from his mouth. He is literally close to jumping out happily until he hears Mr. Tomlinson’s response, “I was hoping you would never ask for it.”

As he said that, Harry feels like his energy has been immediately drained out. He is absolutely not expecting that response to come out. Thinking about it only makes Harry feel a bit disappointed, because of course he is going to ask for his project to be returned. Not only because it is his project, but also because it is one of his most treasured artworks. And he made a promise last week, and he has to keep it. Yet, why was Mr. Tomlinson expecting that Harry wouldn’t ask for his project to be returned? Like, why did he seem to be a bit possessive and selfish over Harry’s own artwork?

While Harry is having a mental breakdown, Mr. Tomlinson is shuffling through all of his stuff in his drawer until he produces a brown envelope. It seems perfectly kept and taken care of, Harry can tell because there are little to no wrinkles on it. Then, Mr. Tomlinson turns his chair around to face Harry as he slowly opens the envelope and takes out the familiar watercolor painting.

Before he could even stop himself, Harry lets out a loud gasp, and then a cry of joy. He resists the urge of jumping out of joy by stomping his feet too harshly on the floor. He covers his pinkish red face to hide how happy and grateful he is. He would even start crying if he didn’t stop himself from doing so. He puts his hands down on his sides and mutters a _“Thank God”_. Finally, he faces his Arts teacher who is still smiling at him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t return it to you earlier,” Mr. Tomlinson says.

“It’s alright, Sir Lou—” Harry immediately cups his mouth with his hand before he puts it down hesitantly. “Sir L, I mean.”

Mr. Tomlinson simply waves at him lightly with his free hand. “Usually, I would tell a student who calls me that to kindly shut the fuck up and correct them,” he says nonchalantly.

It startles Harry a bit, because there wasn’t any hesitance in Mr. Tomlinson’s tone. He just says it so freely and smoothly, like he doesn’t care whether he curses in front of his own student.

“But I’ll leave you as an exception, so be thankful of that. However, you can only call me that when we’re alone. _Alone together.”_

Thinking about the way Mr. Tomlinson stresses the last two words with a raspier and deeper voice only gives Harry unspeakable thoughts in his mind. He literally shivers upon hearing those words coming out from that mouth with that voice and that tone. He wishes not to dwell further into his mind and just simply (and shyly) mumbled, “Thank you, Sir Louis.”

Mr. Tomlinson just smiles and comments nothing about it. Instead, he says, “Now, before I return this to you, let me tell you why I didn’t return it to you earlier. And before I do—and I know this sounds stupid considering you made this yourself—tell me, Styles. What do you see?”

When Mr. Tomlinson displays the artwork in landscape view, Harry immediately knows the answer the young man wants to hear. “That is my house, and my Mum and my sister are there,” he says. “Added a little twist and made it a bit disfigured like that. Gives off an abstract kind of vibe.”

“I agree, to be honest,” Mr. Tomlinson says with a nod. “Now, if I tilt it like this—” He rotates the paper by 90 degrees. “—what do you see now?” 

Harry smiles as he answers knowingly and proudly. “A young boy with a very wide and bright smile.”

Mr. Tomlinson smiles and hands back Harry’s painting with a gentle and careful hand. He then touches his scruff thoughtfully before saying, “Your written explanation wasn’t enough for me, to be honest. So, I want you to explain your work in a more detailed way, if possible.”

Harry hides his face with his project shyly to hide the grin that spreads across his face. He looks down at his own painting when he begins to speak, “You asked us to paint something that is ‘peaceful’ and ‘warm’.”

Mr. Tomlinson nods.

“And the first thing that came into my mind was my home, because naturally, I feel peaceful and warm in it, especially when my Mum and my sister are with me. Originally, I intended to just paint my house with them in it, but—” Harry pauses as he starts to smile slowly. “—something kinda happened while I was working on my project.”

He looks up and watches Mr. Tomlinson shift from his seat, his elbow resting on his lap and his chin resting on the back of his hand. He looks at Harry with curious blue eyes that somehow remind him of Tommy’s own back then.

Harry continues, “Last week after school, it was pretty late and I missed the bus, so I had to wait for the next one to arrive. I decided to work on my project and then, to my loveliest surprise, somebody moved my watercolor set. And that somebody was this little boy in my painting.” Harry shows his artwork to his teacher and points at the boy.

“What made you paint him, then?” Mr. Tomlinson asks, and Harry labels the smile on his face as ‘The Fondlinson’s Smile’.

(He should also stop coming up with these weird names.)

Harry hesitated, biting his bottom lip as he thinks for his answer. He can feel Mr. Tomlinson’s gaze on him, and it only makes the butterflies in his stomach flutter inside of him. After a while, Harry simply answers, “His smile.”

“What of it?”

Harry inhales deeply to calm his nerves down. “When you see a child smiling, you would think of its youth, its innocence, and its purity. Sometimes, seeing a smile as genuine and pure as this boy’s smile makes you think, ‘I feel so safe with him’, not because of how young he is, but because of how he looks innocent and pure. And seeing a smile like that…doesn’t that warm your heart in a way like it literally melts inside your chest?”

Harry knows his voice is quivering with nervousness, but Mr. Tomlinson still looks straight at him and nods, the smile in the teacher’s face unwavering. It only made Harry feel more confident to carry on, thus he ends up telling the story to his teacher.

“Then I talked to him for a while, and I’d say he was a lovely and fun child,” Harry continues. “And he always beams that particular smile of his, exactly the one in my project. That smile of his makes me think that I must protect that boy, because he is too precious, and he deserves all the happy things in this world. I mean, he is just so sweet and fun to be with, and really. He makes me feel like I am at home with him.”

He pauses for a while and looks down, as he remembers what little Tommy told him that day. Before he knew it, the tone in Harry’s own voice changes into something that sounds similar to pity. “He even told me that he wanted to have a sibling—an older sister, specifically. But, he said that his father couldn’t give him one. I don’t really know exactly why, but I think the boy’s father has his reasons—good ones, I’m sure—and sadly, he hasn’t told his son yet. So, I decided to become the boy’s pretend-to-be sister instead, because it was the least I could do that time. And also, I may sound a bit selfish, but I don’t want to see his sad face. Looking at it makes my heart ache for him, even if I just met him.”

Harry looks up to meet Mr. Tomlinson’s eyes again. “I wish you will see him soon, Sir Louis. The very image of his smile will always be in your head, and no matter how hard you try to get rid of it, it will always stay there. If you ever meet him and make him smile or laugh, you will truly feel like you’re in a peaceful and warm place, and at the same time, you will feel like you want to protect him no matter what.”

There is a long silence between the two of them, only the sound of the wind blowing the curtains can be heard that time. After a while, Mr. Tomlinson raises his hands in his chest level and slowly claps them, much to Harry’s surprise.

“That was one long but good explanation, Styles,” he remarks after he stops clapping. “I do hope I could meet that boy soon. Now, before you leave, do you, by any chance, know his name?”

Harry furrows his eyebrows as he thinks, his lips pursued. “He didn’t mention his surname when we introduced ourselves, but he did say that his name was Tommy.”

“Ah, Tommy,” Mr. Tomlinson murmurs as he nods. “I can’t wait to see meet him soon.”

And then, something hits Harry’s mind that made him perk his head up too quickly and, he grins at his teacher. “How about we meet him now?”

Mr. Tomlinson raises a questioning eyebrow. “What?”

“Let’s meet him now, Sir Louis!” Harry says excitedly as he clenches his free hand tightly to suppress his happiness, careful not to move the hand that is holding his project. “I think he will be at the bus stop, probably waiting for me.”

“Why would you think so?”

“Because I made a promise, Sir.  I told him that we would meet each other soon.”

Before he can even regret it, Harry grabs his teacher’s hand and practically drags him out of the staff room. He knows very well that Mr. Tomlinson is as surprised as himself because of what he just did. But it seems that he doesn’t really mind as Harry feels Mr. Tomlinson’s small but strong hand finally holding Harry’s own properly.

Harry blushes from this, but he tries to ignore the strange feeling he is beginning to feel in his chest. He shakes his head as the two of them dash their way out of the school building to the bus stop.

**-x-x-**

When they finally arrived at the place, the first thing Harry notices is a boy sitting on the bench, his feet kicking in the air as he is seemingly waiting for somebody. Harry smiles to himself as he rushes towards the child because he knows who he is.

“Tommy!” Harry calls out.

When the boy turns around, Harry can see the smile appear on his face. He jumps out happily from the bench and runs towards Harry as he practically shouts, “Harry!”

Harry stops on his tracks as he kneels on the ground. His wide open arms welcome Tommy who comes running to him. Finally, they hug each other tightly for a while. Harry comforts the boy’s back with his free hand.

When they move away, Harry says, “I have something to show you, Tommy.”

Tommy’s eyes widen and his mouth gapes open. “What is it?” He sounds like he is trying to hide his excitement from Harry but fails.

Harry then, shows his project to Tommy, but he displays it in landscape. “What do you see, Tommy?”

The boy hums thoughtfully for a while before he answers, “Your house. That’s what you said your house looks like. And that’s your Mum and your sister.” Tommy points at the figures respectively.

“Very good,” Harry praises as he tousles the boy’s already messy hair. “Now, if I do this—” Harry rotates his paper the same way Mr. Tomlinson did back then. “—what do you see now?”

Tommy looks visibly confused for a few moments before finally, his eyes go wide and he covers his mouth with his small hands to hide a loud gasp. “Is that—” He looks at Harry straight in his eyes. “Is that me?”

Harry just smiles and nods. He is then, met with small arms around him and he does not hesitate to hug Tommy back again.

“Thank you, Harry!” Tommy exclaims happily at Harry’s ear, but the curly-haired lad doesn’t really mind at all. “You are the best big sister ever!”

Harry laughs lightly as he murmurs at Tommy’s ear, “Anything for the best little brother ever.”

They remain hugging each other firmly until the weight from Harry’s shoulder disappears as Tommy lifts his head. Harry cannot see the boy’s expression, but the next thing Tommy says is something he absolutely did not see coming.

“Daddy?”

Harry’s eyes widen in surprise as he subconsciously lets go of the boy. They slowly separate from each other as Harry slowly stands up from his place and turns around. There he sees Mr. Tomlinson smiling. Not at him, but at Tommy whose surprise is slowly being replaced with the same happy smile Harry just saw recently.

He watches the boy walk to his father and hug his legs tightly. Mr. Tomlinson bends down and pats Tommy’s head. “I thought you wouldn’t notice me, tiny Tom-Tom.”

Tommy laughs sheepishly as he looks up at his father. “Sorry, Daddy. I was too excited to see Harry again.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mr. Tomlinson murmurs gently as he catches Harry staring at them with a tender smile in his face. “I thought so.”

Harry blushes, and he immediately covers his face with his huge hands like a shy deer in the headlights. He hears Mr. Tomlinson chuckling before Tommy’s high-pitched voice speaks up.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” From the tone of his voice, Harry assumes that Tommy is worried. “Are you crying? Did Daddy scare you?”

“Hey, I’m not that scary!” Mr. Tomlinson retorted playfully, only getting a mischievous grin from his son in return.

Harry, meanwhile, finds the conversation too endearing, and his heart feels much warmer than before that he fears it is going to melt anytime soon. He pulls his hands away and shakes his head. “No, no! Your Daddy didn’t scare me at all,” Harry answers. “Besides, he isn’t really that scary.”

After Mr. Tomlinson pulled a face at his son by sticking his tongue out, Harry giggles softly to himself before he continues quite nervously.

“I was just…surprised, that’s all.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” Tommy asks, like the questioning and curious toddler he is.

Harry smiles, but his eyes are focused at his teacher who is looking at him with the same confused look Tommy has. “It’s just that your Daddy didn’t tell me you are his precious tiny Tom-Tom.”

Both father and son let out obnoxious sounds until Tommy finally starts laughing out loud. Meanwhile, Mr. Tomlinson looks at Harry with gleaming blue eyes filled with mirth. The smirk in his face clearly shows that he is being playful when he says, “One, you’re not supposed to call him that, because I’m the only one who can call him that. Two—”

“Harry can call me ‘Tom-Tom’ because he is my big sister!” Tommy interrupts happily after he finally stops laughing. He then, looks at Harry who is stopping himself from laughing this time. “I can’t believe Daddy didn’t tell you about me!” the boy says with a huge pout on his face.

Harry simply responds with a shrug. “Well, Daddy has his own reasons sometimes,” he says teasingly as he crosses his arms and shots up a questioning eyebrow at his teacher. However, deep inside, saying that one word only makes Harry feel so turned on. And as much as possible, he tries not to feel that way, especially right in front of his own teacher with his six-year-old son.

“Well, I was about to tell you about it ‘til Tom-Tom here interrupted,” Mr. Tomlinson says simply as he tousles his son’s hair, much to the little one’s disgust. After giving Tommy a stern look to tell him to keep quiet, Mr. Tomlinson looks back at Harry with a gentle smile. “To be honest, I just wanted to see the surprise in your face once you found out.”

“What is that even supposed to mean?” Harry asked completely perplexed.

Mr. Tomlinson shrugs. “You caught me by surprise when you painted my son for your project, so I might as well return the favor by surprising you as well so, yeah.”

Harry snorts, and everything between them turns a bit awkward. They are just standing there at the side of the road and facing each other. Tommy is probably not allowed to speak yet because he isn’t saying anything to break the silence between them. And Harry, somehow, feels shy under the gaze of his own teacher. Then again, he doesn’t really know what to do or say after everything that has happened to him ever since he met Tommy, who eventually turns out to be his Arts teacher’s son.

Then out of nowhere, Mr. Tomlinson suddenly says, “I actually wanted to keep it.”

Harry was too distracted with his thoughts that he didn’t hear what his teacher said. He blinks before asking, “Excuse me?”

Mr. Tomlinson sighs, scratching the back of his head at the process. Tommy looks up and seems to be wondering why his father is acting weirdly, which is also Harry’s thoughts as well. “I actually wanted to keep it.”

“Keep what?”

“Your project, Styles.”

“My—oh.” And that is when Harry realizes what Mr. Tomlinson is trying to say. He is most likely (if not exactly) trying to explain what he meant earlier about expecting Harry not to ask for his project back, which only makes Harry even more curious about it. “Why do you want to keep it?”

“It’s a painting of my son, Styles. How can you not want to keep it?”

Mr. Tomlinson coughs twice, and Harry knows what it means when he does that. Louis “The Sassiest and Rudest Art Critic That Has Ever Been Born” Tomlinson is making his appearance. Harry gulps in fear because never in his life has he gotten any positive comments about his work.

“It is really beautiful, and I love the colors you chose,” Mr. Tomlinson begins. And Harry is definitely sure he is not dreaming. “The bright colors weren’t an eyesore, and they came out more of a pastel-ish kind of color. They perfectly contrast with the dark colors as well, and I’d say that was very good color scheming and blending, too. I also loved the way how you made the painting of your house look abstract so that you can get the shape of Tom-Tom’s face. The details are simply mesmerizing as well. There may be a tiny bit of errors that I noticed, but you covered them pretty well. Your artwork is not even just a painting anymore—it’s a _freaking masterpiece._

“To be honest, I even considered of framing it, but I decided against it. Because, well,” Mr. Tomlinson pauses as he seems to be thinking for the right words to say. His cheeks turn into a pinkish shade of red, but Harry might just be seeing things. “I haven’t technically asked your permission, and doing that is wrong, I know. So, I was planning that I will return your project to you myself.”

Harry stands there in awe, eyes wide and jaw slack. Mr. Tomlinson hardly ever gives any positive remarks to any of their artworks. In fact, he mostly criticizes them too harshly, yet his fellow teachers defend him by reasoning that he is just “being bluntly honest”.

But, this is a lot more different. This is his Arts teacher who is still being the most bluntly honest critic ever, but this time, he is giving legit positive feedback. And Harry can’t help but feel incredibly proud as his heart beats rapidly.

Harry grins while he continues to watch Mr. Tomlinson scratch the back of his head in shyness. He rarely sees his teacher like that, and he feels happy for making him act like that. He also sees Tommy who is exchanging glances between his father and Harry with a mischievous smile plastered in his face.

“To be honest with you, Sir Louis,” Harry says as he subconsciously walks closer to his teacher. “I would still let you keep my project and frame it if you want.”

Mr. Tomlinson huffs. “No, listen, the thing is—”

“I have a scanned copy of my artwork before I passed it last week. So as long as I have that in my computer and print it myself, I would still have my project.”

Mr. Tomlinson shakes his head. “That is still wrong, Styles. If anything, I would rather have the copy even if we love the original as much.”

It takes a moment for Harry to realize that when his teacher said “we”, he meant him and his son, Tommy. “Well, if you really want to, I could print you my scanned copy.”

“I’d rather print it myself, actually. I don’t want to bother you that much.”

“Seriously, Sir, it’s—”

_“Styles.”_

Harry freezes the moment he hears Mr. Tomlinson using the same commanding and dominant tone he used hours ago. It quickly sends a chill to Harry’s spine, and he can feel the goose bumps slowly forming on his skin. At the same time, he is so fucking turned on just from hearing it. Now, he feels like his legs are going to collapse any time soon if his teacher keeps using that tone to him.

“Styles, you alright?” Harry sees one of Mr. Tomlinson’s eyebrows raised, his expression a mixture of confusion and worry. “You’re having a fever? Your face is red.”

Harry immediately shakes his head. “I’m alright, Sir, I just—” He cuts himself off, willing not to say anything further just to save himself from getting embarrassed, especially right in front of his Arts teacher and his young child.

Mr. Tomlinson still keeps his eyebrow raised before he shrugs his shoulders. He looks down on the pavement as he moves his feet around, seemingly unsure of what he is supposed to say next.

Harry understands him fully because he feels exactly the same. He even finds himself doing the same thing his teacher is doing, his worn out boots scraping on the cemented floor.

It is when the awkward silence between the two becomes so unbearable that Tommy groans out loud enough for them to hear.

“Come on, Daddy!” Tommy urges his father as he shakes him by the arm. “Go tell him! We’ve practiced this a lot.”

Harry blinks upon hearing what Tommy said before he realizes that, _wait._

His Arts teacher has been planning this for the whole time?

_What the fuck?_

As if he read Harry’s thoughts, Mr. Tomlinson immediately clears his throat—just loud enough to snap Harry out of his mental panic. “To be honest, I have quite expected all of this to happen.” He pauses, a side frown forming in his mouth. “Actually, I did not expect all of this to happen. The only thing I didn’t expect was, as I said, for you asking me to return your project.”

Harry just nods at him, eyes completely wide in pure confusion. His heart strangely begins to beat faster as he anticipates what his teacher has been planning to tell him for the whole time.

“Well, because you did promise to meet my son today, and uh, now we’re all here,” Mr. Tomlinson stammers in his words. He is now looking at his dainty fingers while fumbling them nervously. He takes a deep breath and finally looks up.

Harry almost gets startled when he sees the determination glinting in Mr. Tomlinson’s eyes.

“Would you like to join me for dinner?” He becomes surprised of his words for a split second, before he quickly corrects himself, “Us, I mean.”

Harry blinks for a few times, and his jaw would literally drop on the floor if he was in cartoon. His eyes feel tired for constantly opening them wide because of shock, but he really can’t help it. Every single time, his Arts teacher (and his son, sometimes) will always find a way to surprise him in the most unexpected way as possible. Harry finds it really unfair sometimes, but now his brain needs to process something important.

Harry has to admit, it was a very sudden invitation. First off, he is going to the house of one of his teachers, and he is basically going to hang out with him there. According to the rules, that is a huge ‘no’—all caps-lock, bold, italicized, and underlined. The thing here now, however, is that Mr. Louis Tomlinson himself invited him, and Harry can’t really help but consider it as some sort of date.

_Wait a second._

_What?_

_Where the fuck did that idea come from?_

Technically speaking, when you’re going to have dinner with your Arts teacher and his son who you promised to meet today, that isn’t a date at all. So, there shouldn’t be anything romantic about this whole thing, right? But, the way Mr. Tomlinson worded the whole thing out really made it sounded like he said, “Can I ask you out on a date?”

That is most likely the reason why Harry’s heart is skipping beat after beat. Mr. Tomlinson is undeniably hot, and Harry still feels ashamed for only realizing it today. Besides, he is a really nice and good father, but a very strict and harsh teacher. Then again, he has Tommy, whom Harry really likes. If anything, Harry would definitely go out on a date with him.

However, Tommy will be present by then, so Harry might as well reconsider dating his Arts teacher for a later time. And of course, the snogging. He should really _really_ think about that very soon.

When Harry finds himself back in reality, he sees Mr. Tomlinson with his face down. He can’t see his expression properly, but Harry can tell he looks hopeful and worried at the same time, like he is afraid he might get rejected on the spot. Tommy is still standing so close to his father, exchanging hopeful glances between him and Harry.

“Well?” Mr. Tomlinson finally asks, his expectant blue eyes looking through Harry’s very soul.

“Come on, Harry, we’re going to have fun, I promise!” Tommy adds, sounding a bit desperate.

And really, who is Harry for saying no to these two? Besides, he finds it so unfair that the Tomlinsons are really good in giving pitiful looks that can never be resisted.

Harry offers them the sweetest smile he can give. “I’d love to.”

Soon enough, Harry finds himself walking towards the Tomlinsons’ household while holding Tommy’s little hand while he is chatting animatedly about his day. Meanwhile, Mr. Tomlinson is holding his son’s other hand, and he just listens to their conversations.

Sometimes, he looks at Harry and Tommy before he looks back at the road. Sometimes, he will say something witty mid-conversations. Sometimes, he either smiles or chuckles whenever Harry tells one of his many bad jokes to his son. Sometimes, he reminds Harry that his jokes aren’t really funny at all. Sometimes, he will take sneaky glances at Harry while smiling fondly at him. Sometimes, Harry will catch him, and Mr. Tomlinson will just look away, pretending that nothing happened even though the blush on his cheeks clearly says otherwise.

Somewhere along the way, Harry finally realizes he found something so special.

Something that was warm and peaceful.

Something that made it felt like home to him.

And he found it, in the form of his Arts teacher and his little son.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for finishing this until the end. I hope you liked it. Kudos/comments/bookmarks are highly appreciated. 
> 
> Talk to me in [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/HSaijou)


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